


like a bird

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Comedy, Coping, Exhaustion, Gen, Insomnia, Mental Health Issues, Mystery, Papa!gil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Of all bird metrics, Sunshine was content. Malcolm couldn't even pass for bird happy. Maybe he needed to treat himself as well as Sunshine. Whump Fic Exchange.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Sunshine the Bird
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: Prodigal Whump Fic Exchange - Spring 2020





	like a bird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts).



> Scorp requested anything that tells a good story. I can't really judge that, lol, but I know Scorp loves Sunshine and Malcolm interaction, so I went with something I thought Scorp might find enjoyable.

Malcolm might be an insomniac, but his girl needed her sleep. Sunshine’s cage was hidden underneath a black tied cover, nighttime one of the few instances she stayed cooped up while he was home. The rest of the time she was free to explore wherever she pleased, making the loft her own.

When morning came around, he peeled back the cover, and she chirped in greeting. He let her out to fly while he replenished her food and water, only putting her back when he had to leave the loft for the precinct.

She had the opportunity to get 12 hours of sleep a night if she wanted, sometimes playing inside her cage after being tucked in or waiting for Malcolm to get up.

Malcolm wished he could get half that. Or even a third consistently.

By all bird metrics, she was content. Climbing, playing, dancing, eating a variety of foods, chirping and singing with him. Despite his mother’s complaints, she lived better than he did.

He couldn’t even pass for bird happy.

Walls were the only thing he climbed. Music playing to brighten his morning fell behind the clouds throughout the day. Sunshine wasn’t there to dance with at the precinct, not that everyone wouldn’t think _what the hell was wrong with him_ if she was. His Twizzlers were the equivalent of only eating seeds, a big no-no for health. His voice sounded more gravelly or manic the less sleep he got, every day a coin flip.

Maybe he needed to treat himself as well as Sunshine.

Something he'd known since he’d brought her home, yet was much more difficult to implement in practice. Changing behavior took months and _years_ of focus. His dedication to the pursuit stared back at him from the counter in notecards and pills. The results were...questionable.

What was easier?

Buying things to mimic her lifestyle.

What his brain couldn’t try, his wallet sure could help with. Or at least the thought process seemed logical at the time.

He came home from the precinct to a package waiting on his doorstep. A large cardboard box, unmarked for shipping as promised, thankfully no one had stolen from the street. He brought it upstairs with him and set it on the floor in front of the kitchen, childlike glee filling him even though he knew what was inside. A quick slice with his pocket knife, and out slid a bundle of opaque plastic. He slit that and removed a pile of leather.

Heavy.

He looked up. A mighty tall ceiling.

He headed to the second floor for the ladder, wondering why exactly he had decided to stow it up there. Reminders of aesthetic for the main floor came back to him as he brought it down, the metal and plastic an eyesore compared to the airy urban space.

If his mother only knew he was about to drill into her ceiling.

What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, right?

He got all the way to the top of the ladder, drill in hand, when he looked down. The more obvious solution looked back at him.

He could have just mounted it to the stairs.

Less questions that way.

He traipsed down, putting away the power tool in the closet. It’d have to wait for another occasion to get her torqued.

Folding up the ladder, he brought it back upstairs to its home in the utility room. His feet bounced down to the main floor, getting in his exercise for the day.

He investigated the pile of leather and realized now that he wasn’t going to single point mount it, he needed some straps to attach it to the stairs.

Upstairs again for some quality rope. Strong knots courtesy of his father looped around the stair and fiddled through the top of the leather. He let the bulk of the leather drop in a rolling snap, at which point he realized —

It wasn’t tall enough.

He undid it and futzed sliding it up a few more stairs, this time checking the height first, going up another when it didn’t quite lay as desired. He awkwardly looped the rope around the stair in two places while holding the hanging contraption, attached it to the top of the leather, and let it go.

Success.

He returned to the floor where it hung before him, pleased with himself.

“We did okay, Sunshine,” he spoke to the air. He wasn’t quite sure where she was, but liked to think she’d be pleased. There wasn’t anyone else to judge his handiwork.

He swung the leather back and forth and realized one small problem.

How was he getting inside?

When he’d seen this done before, someone stepped in, then it was hung. How had he forgotten he was solo? What was he gonna do, have Sunshine hang him up? All twisty-tie from his bird? More like birdbrain.

He just needed to be able to latch the carabiner while standing. He had a Master’s degree — surely he could figure that out.

Never mind that it was in psychology or that Gil had labeled his handiwork skills abysmal in a burst of frustration when he was 16. He wouldn’t sleep until he figured this out.

He spun in the space thinking of what could make his arm span just a little bit longer. People used grabbers to extend their reach all the time. Could he open the carabiner with one?

Only one way to find out.

He took a trip to the hardware store, only to be directed to a pharmacy. He tested the locking grabber claw on shampoo bottles, accidentally dropping some of them to the floor, blushing and returning them before anyone could ask what he was doing. His mother would have a fit if he caused a scene in public.

The grabber took some getting used to, but should do the trick.

He headed home and tested holding the carabiner open above him from the ground. Missing, slipping, overshooting, he attempted it several times before getting the hang of it.

Difficult, but not impossible.

He went up the stairs and undid the knots, dropping all the leather to the floor in a thud. Redoing the knots, this time he crossed to a single mount point and left a loop underneath to clip into. Back to the main level, he played with reaching up with the grabber to clip the carabiner in. After many tries —

Success.

He unclipped it again and returned the leather to the floor.

“Bedtime, Sunshine?” Malcolm called, looking around the loft for where she might be.

He found her in the living room preening on the windowsill. He reached his hand out to her and she hopped on for a ride back to her cage.

“You sleep well, sweet girl,” he soothed while he tucked her in underneath the cover.

One down, one to go.

Malcolm cleaned up after her, disposed of all his package debris, then changed into a soft t-shirt and sweatpants for bed. He plugged in his phone on the bureau across from the kitchen.

“Here goes nothing, Sunshine.”

He stepped into the pool of leather on the floor, hefted the leather above his head, and put all the rings on the ends of the leather straps through the carabiner, closing him in. He picked up his grabber from the bureau and locked it to hold the carabiner open, awkwardly reaching toward the loop to clip into.

This was a whole hell of a lot easier when he wasn’t restricted.

And when the small loop he was aiming for wasn’t directly above his head.

It must have been at least 50 tries and a few curses before he connected and let go of the carabiner.

Success.

Leather criss-crossed around him, forming large diamond patterns that tightened into his body like a Chinese finger trap. The hold wasn’t quite as snug as it would have been if a partner had hoisted him up, but the result was effective. He set the grabber back on the bureau and slid his arms inside. Closed his eyes and tried to relax. Thought of his own cover wrapping around him. Maybe a future improvement.

He and Sunshine sleeping side by side in matching cages. Hers in metal, his in hanging leather straps.

She got up to 12 hours of sleep a night in hers.

Maybe he could get half that in his.

He hoped.

He dreamed.

He envisioned a day they would both wake refreshed and beaming.

And succumbed a little while.

Five minutes. Maybe ten. Jolted awake creaking the stair.

Drifted off.

The sound of leather and rivets squeaked against each other. He looked back to Sunshine.

Asleep.

A forever looping sleep and wake cycle that was comparably restless to laying in bed. Except he was on his feet, so every time he jerked brought the irrational fear of falling with it.

He’d tied those knots damn good. His father had taught him some things right among the rest of his disastrous parenting choices. Malcolm wasn’t going anywhere.

He tried to make it a few hours, his heart holding out for the wonderful rest that Sunshine managed.

Why couldn’t he care for himself like her?

He played swinging back and forth a little, metal slipping, the stair groaning.

Goddammit why couldn’t he sleep?

Fluid pooling at his feet, his toes swelled. He got cold, not having fixed a blanket around him. He waited it out a bit longer and started shaking with chills.

Not ideal.

Put up a goalpost in his mind of sticking it out another hour.

Failed before that, his fingertips and toes freezing.

He’d never get normal sleep.

He gave up and reached for the grabber, sticking it up to the carabiner to let himself out. Another 50 tries to get the carabiner open.

But he had a problem.

The whole setup had shifted with his weight, and try as he might, he couldn’t get it unhooked.

He was stuck.

 _No way_ he was stuck. He had gotten himself into this mess, he sure as hell was getting himself out.

But gravity had other ideas. With the carabiner twisted upside down and his weight inside, he couldn’t budge.

Where was his pocket knife?

In the drawer behind the bar where it always went. His subscription to _a place for everything and everything in its place_ left him tied up.

He looked in his immediate vicinity for anything else he had to work with.

His phone.

Not exactly the kind of help he was hoping for.

Yet the kind he had.

Who would he call? Should he wait a few hours? It had to be what, 1, 2, 3AM? Had he even made it that long?

He waited, his whole body shivering in defeat. There was no way he could hold out until morning.

He grabbed his phone and pressed a contact.

“Kid?” Gil’s sleepy voice came over the phone.

Malcolm looked at the clock on his phone for the first time. 1:30AM. Ouch. “I’m fine — “ he started, but Gil cut him off.

“Nothing good starts with that. Where are you?” Malcolm heard rustling in the background.

“Home. I’m fine — seriously. I just got myself…stuck.”

“Why do you sound calm?” Gil questioned, his voice stressed as his car started.

“‘Cause I’m okay. I just did something stupid and need help.”

“This better be good.”

Gil’s panic walking in the door transformed into laughter when he turned the lights on and got a glimpse of Malcolm under the stairs.

“Did a date leave you here?” Gil chuckled, Malcolm trying to avoid his eyes.

“I’d be a lot more naked,” Malcolm muttered.

“Well, we can both be grateful it wasn’t that then, huh?” Gil got a look at what he was working with. “Care to explain?”

“I was trying to get some sleep,” defeat poured into his voice.

“Did it work?”

“No. And considering you don’t want me calling you every night, I think we can call this a complete flop.”

“Maybe more caged bird,” Gil teased.

Malcolm glared at him, displeased, eyes begging him not to go further.

“That started this,” Gil said, the solved puzzle apparent on his face.

“Yes, okay,” Malcolm huffed in frustration. “Just get me out.”

Gil took out his pocket knife and moved to cut the straps near Malcolm’s waist, the loosest part. “No, up top,” Malcolm complained.

“I’m gonna do you a favor and cut it here so this can’t happen again,” Gil disagreed, sawing through the first strap.

Malcolm sighed and stood quietly while Gil worked his full way around, slicing the cage in half. Freed, Malcolm pushed the leather over his head and ducked out. He rubbed his hands over his arms, warming himself.

“You alright?” Gil took in his shaking.

“Just cold,” Malcolm admitted, climbing into bed and under all the covers.

“I’ll make you a hot water bottle,” Gil told him, heading for the kitchen.

“Gil, you don’t have to stay. Thank you.”

“I’m not about to go home and let you get into more trouble.” Gil started the kettle and rummaged for a glass jar.

“Everything’s clean upstairs.”

Gil wrapped the jar in a towel and bundled it with Malcolm underneath the blankets. Gil’s hand lingered at his neck, sharing, “Get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Gil.”

Malcolm found Gil asleep on his couch when he woke the next morning, close by so he could be on the lookout. Malcolm checked his watch.

A full _five_ hours.

Maybe he found the secret to a good night’s sleep after all.

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a comment of Malcolm's edited out of the pilot script.


End file.
